Mary Wilson




Jeremy condenses clothing at a rate of one shirt to a pant leg,
elevating bodies from their usual dust,

while the usual wind, Jeremy thinks, regardless of their gender throws
their scarves out in a line behind them

pointing north. Jeremy, enthralled, takes walks outside the factory,
where bodies shuffle in a dull rain.

Jeremy in pants is masterful-Jeremy,           Jeremy
holds nothing down.

A man riding a male bicycle, thinks Jeremy, who glides now
in the middle of the street.

He turns a coin up face-first in the gutter. The wind outside of Jeremy.
Moves him, Jeremy.






Eventually it will come together like a rock field.  Jeremiah strung
his topic sentence lengthwise, starting at the yellow fire hydrant ending

in a point which he kept hidden out of sight, which might've been
a point in time it was         so far from what we knew to be the present

with its gluttony, its waiting, its fist-pounding and cufflinks.
Jeremiah paused. A sudden wet latitude spindled from his middle-brow,

the tip of it engulfing in a brown rain. The village steamed up to him.
Speech-writers careened through dirt streets. Jeremiah heard

a shout from somewhere sounding like another Jeremiah, but his speech
was luminous and single, unmistakable, thought Jeremiah. Permanence

began to sound like politics. Especially
in this damage,
Jeremiah thought.






Nouns step furiously out of something sounding under Michael,
smoothing from his forehead to        the wrinkles underneath.

Michael in the past had been a gauntlet,     Michael felt
that he was thrown at someone with a curse.        Now,

whispers Michael, now I am cut loose. Michael downs

the contents of an off-red bottle,          where the false-white
sky boils over into    red leather.






Man goes shopping in the morning forgets fire, goes back-hoe for it,  Man
feels upward, finds         his God in solar     dirt, cuts dirt

delivers God headfirst and holy, Man     breaks bread from supermarket
breakfasts, clears    his plate gives thanks        inside               his car

sweeps steps and driveway, pours        a glass and chalks it             down
gives more thanks pulls        his collar open, Man,          his collar

and the blunt of sun-light Man        gives thanks for   
cars his colors,    mans the metal blade to scrape      the butter from

his breakfast Man gives thanks                 for butter, breakfast, blade.